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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106068">A Funny Old World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlefrog/pseuds/noodlefrog'>noodlefrog</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack Treated Seriously, Crushes, Don't copy to another site, Falling In Love, Hell, I've been told this is sweet but also made people sad so idk, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, Ligur Lives (Good Omens), M/M, Maggot Husbands, No Smut, Other, POV Hastur (Good Omens), Smoking, Sort Of, Temporary Character Death, They're very stupid and mean but they like each other a lot, Thomas Edison mention, but like played for laughs, just assholes hanging out in hell enjoying being together, no kissing, the author has a picture of ligur as their lock screen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:07:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlefrog/pseuds/noodlefrog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastur liked fire. It had a certain look about it that he liked to watch, the color and the movement and the coiling of the smoke. If he was feeling sentimental, which was rare, he'd call it beautiful. Most of the time, he called it fun. Destructive. Exciting. Funny, sometimes, especially when humans were around to see something of theirs burning and did all that business of running around yelling about it. </p><p>He liked Ligur, as much as he could like any fellow demon. Ligur was competent at the temptations he performed and had a similar kind of eye for the artistry of a long con that Hastur could appreciate. He was... cunning. Ruthless. Vicious. A right proper menace. Excellent lurker. Knew how to bide his time and plot and scheme with the best of them. He could respect Ligur for what he was: an evil bastard who he didn't hate being around.<br/>When he was feeling sentimental, which was rare, he would think of him as beautiful, too.<br/></p><hr/><p><br/>*screechy, off-key rendition of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" played on a kazoo*<br/>Hastur has a crush on Ligur, and it's mutual.<br/>I'm taking this crack seriously.<br/>You've been warned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hastur &amp; Ligur (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Funny Old World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I apologize for nothing. #MurkyAndLurky #MaggotHusbands</p><p>Even though the amount of play YouTube gave me of Rod Stewart's "Blondes Have More Fun" album suggested my computer was trying to get me to bump the rating of this fic up, this is about as SFW as the show. </p><p>Rated T for language, vague violence, and putting Eric in peril.</p><p>Unsure what to tell y'all about the tone of this one. I think it's funny and kind of sweet, but I've also been told it's a little sad. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Demons couldn't love. They lost the capacity for it when they Fell, when Her love inside them lit up like an accelerant and cored them out until they were hollow. Gutted. Until they were ruins of the angels they'd once been, like the charred skeletons of houses that had burned down to the frame. Ready to be built up again, better this time, but never again like how they'd once been. Always with that scent of smoke inside the walls.</p><p>Hastur, as a demon, could not love. But he could enjoy things. He could take pleasure in things. He could have things he wanted to keep. He could be upset when what liked, what he wanted to keep with him, was <i>taken away.</i></p><p>Hastur liked fire. It had a certain look about it that he liked to watch, the color and the movement and the coiling of the smoke. If he was feeling sentimental, which was rare, he'd call it beautiful. Most of the time, he called it fun. Destructive. Exciting. Funny, sometimes, especially when humans were around to see something of theirs burning and did all that business of running around yelling about it.</p><p>Hastur liked the satisfaction of a bad job done well. He took pride in seeing a temptation come together after decades of work, of finally watching what once had been a devout and Heaven-bound soul crumble and break and fall to damnation. He liked watching a human he'd been working on finally, <i>finally</i> start to do evil because they wanted to, because it was <i>fun</i>. When they finally took what Hastur had been whispering in their ear for ten, twenty years to heart and <i>hurt</i> somebody.</p><p>Hastur liked...</p><p>He liked Ligur, as much as he could like any fellow demon. Ligur was competent at the temptations he performed and had a similar kind of eye for the artistry of a long con that Hastur could appreciate. He was... cunning. Ruthless. Vicious. A right proper menace. Excellent lurker. Knew how to bide his time and plot and scheme with the best of them.</p><p>He was the kind of demon that really put his back into it when he decided to do something. The kind of demon you wanted to hang around if you had an eye for promotion. The kind of demon who was better to work with than against, one that you could pull off even bigger schemes with than when you worked alone. Respect was an alright thing for a demon to feel. The lower-downs, Satan and Beelzebub and all them, they certainly demanded it. He could respect Ligur for what he was: an evil bastard who he didn't hate being around.</p><p>When he was feeling sentimental, which was rare, he would think of him as beautiful, too.</p><p>It didn’t mean anything that he noticed that, either, Hastur thought. He had eyes. Ligur’s form was built to blend in with the humans, more or less, and to look attractive doing it. Luck of the draw, he supposed, him getting that jawline paired with those cheekbones. And the parts of him that didn’t look human were striking. Hastur was naturally going to like the whole massive-animal-sat-atop-one’s-head look, after all. It was fun to watch the colors change, too, and his eyes usually matched whatever the chameleon did. Hastur liked fun. Between all the waiting around and all the forms they had to fill out, it was… easy, sometimes, to get bored in Hell. Even the torture got dull sometimes. But looking at Ligur was never boring.</p><p>The color-changing had other advantages, too. You always knew where you stood with a demon like Ligur. Not that deceit and treachery were things Hastur frowned on. No, he frowned on those things as much as he frowned on most of the other things he liked. Could be a bit annoying sometimes, though, from other demons who acted like they were better than you because they were slick. But with Ligur, there was a sort of plain dealing he could appreciate. The rules were simple and easy to understand. See his eyes—or that big fuckoff chameleon on his head, either one—turn red, and you knew to keep all of your limbs out of biting range. Anyone who didn’t, and got bit, well. That was hardly Ligur’s problem, was it? He’d offered a head start by way of warning coloration. More than fair, really. It made him almost easy to get along with, as far as demons went.</p><p>Ligur was a nasty piece of work, and Hastur wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>He always knew exactly what to say, too, like some kind of fucking mind reader. Beelzebub was hard to impress, but Ligur always told him how evil he was after Hastur gave a presentation. He never called the thing on top of Hastur’s head a <i>frog</i> because he remembered it was a toad. He also noticed whenever Hastur had managed to cultivate a new strain of mold growth, even if no one else in this shithole paid any attention to it. <i>“You look like Hell, Hastur,”</i> he’d say, and Hastur couldn’t help himself but grin. That usually sent the lesser demons scattering for cover, but never Ligur. Ligur looked at him, sometimes, like he’d tried to make him smile on purpose.</p><p>Ligur was funny, too. Now there was a demon who knew how to tell a joke. He always knew how to make Hastur laugh. There had been this one time, and it still made him giggle a bit to even think about it, when they’d been walking and Ligur had pointed at three Erics all lined up in a row down at the end of the hall by one of the copy machines. <i>“Watch this,”</i> he'd said, and then before Hastur had cottoned on to what was happening, Ligur had picked up the Usher where he'd been walking by and rolled him down the hallway like a bowling ball, screeching and caterwauling like anything, and knocked all three of the Erics over.</p><p>Ligur could be counted on to remember their temptations, his and Hastur’s both, even if he hadn’t been directly involved. Whenever one of their long-term projects made it to Hell, he’d ride the elevator up from Torments and announce the news like human office workers announced the presence of cake in the break room.</p><p><i>“Looks like your American died,”</i> he’d said once. More than once, really. Hastur had been in America a lot that century.</p><p>
  <i>“Which one?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“The one you got to electrocute an elephant in public.”</i>
</p><p><i>“Oh, Edison,</i>” Hastur had said, and he’d smiled. <i>“I remember him.”</i></p><p><i>“Want to take a trip downstairs?”</i> Ligur had asked. <i>“I nicked Dagon’s lemon zester.”</i></p><p>Another demon might have kept all the fun for himself, but not Ligur. When it came time for violence, Ligur liked to share.</p><p>He could always tell when Hastur was having a bad day (that is, a day that was worse than a regular day in Hell), and instead of using that as an excuse to stab him in the kidney when he was showing weakness, he'd show up beside his desk and say, <i>“Hey, want to go maul some of the interns?”</i> Or he'd say, <i>“Hey, let's go upstairs and set something on fire.”</i> Other times he'd just toss a grubby pack of Jelly Babies on his desk and let him eat most of the green ones, even though those were the ones they both thought were the funniest to eat on account of the fact it looked like they were crying.</p><p>Ligur could be weird, though, too. He did things that were confusing, that Hastur couldn’t understand the point of.</p><p><i>“Hey, Hastur,” </i> he'd said once, after he’d come back down from a job up top. <i>“You seen this yet?”</i> And he'd thrown a rock at him.</p><p>Hastur had caught it, and held it up to the flickering light overhead to look. It was sharp but smooth, black and shiny and glossy like it was wet even though it wasn't.</p><p><i>“The fuck is this?”</i> he'd asked, squinting at it.</p><p><i>“Humans call it ‘obsidian.’ Volcanic glass,”</i> Ligur had said. <i>“S'what happens when lava cools off.”</i></p><p><i>“So?”</i> he'd sneered. There was enough lava down here as it was. It kept melting through the storage closets in the HR department. He hadn't known why Ligur had wanted to bring any more of it downstairs.</p><p><i>“Looks a bit like your eyes,”</i> Ligur had told him, and then he'd taken the elevator down to Dagon's office to drop off his reports and left Hastur standing beside his desk looking like a tit with a rock in his hand.</p><p>He’d spent the next six months noticing things that looked like Ligur’s eyes. Couldn’t really help it. Ligur had the easy job, finding one shiny black rock, but Ligur’s eyes changed a lot. There was a lot to compare them to. Sometimes it was the sludge that leaked out of the vent over Hastur’s desk. Sometimes it was a particularly bright patch of offal one of the interns slipped in. The light from the <i>No Exit</i> signs. That weird blue smoke that came out of the fax machine when it stopped working. The moss that grew on the ceiling over his bed. How moonlight looked when it reflected off a marble headstone. The way a convent looked when it burned.</p><p>Then, Ligur had shown up again and dropped something on his desk.</p><p><i>“Been inspiring idolatry,”</i> he’d said, turning it around to face towards Hastur. It was a toad, black and shiny, carved from obsidian. <i>“Brought you back a souvenir.”</i></p><p>He felt a little like he wanted to throw up, and a little like he wanted to take his wings out and flap, and a lot like he didn’t want other people looking at the toad Ligur had given him. He took it back to his quarters and put it on a shelf next to his knives.</p><p>Hastur didn’t know how he got here, to the point where he felt so off-balance like this. It must have crept upon him slowly, from the very Beginning.</p><p>This was how it started, or at least how Hastur remembered it starting:</p><p>There was fire and there was pain. There were angels cutting through the sky, their wings burning and useless, and you knew they were screaming because <i>you</i> were screaming, but you couldn’t hear anyone else over the sound of your own voice. There was a landing, and landing in something wet and deep should have done something to cushion the fall—the Fall—but it didn’t, not for anyone going that fast, and it was hot, too. Boiling, stinking, and yellow. It did nothing to put out the fire on your back because it was on fire too. It <i>was</i> fire, eating away anything that survived the drop and the landing. And all around, there were angels thrashing, splashing, begging for help that wouldn’t come.</p><p>Drowning creatures have a certain instinct to survive, and Hastur figured God must have liked watching it in the Fallen so much She gave it to the rest of Her creatures after She made them. It looks like climbing. It looks like grabbing onto anything you’re given to keep your head above the surface. Even if it’s another person.</p><p>Hastur hadn’t been able to see any kind of shore, so he’d picked a direction and started swimming. He’d gotten too close to one of the other drowning bodies, had seen a pair of panicked orange eyes staring up at him as a head broke the surface, and then the bastard had grabbed him. Tried to climb him. Pushed him under. None of them could die, though, not from this, and even though he had felt like he’d swallowed half the lake, Hastur did not die. Even still, no matter how hard he tried to kick his way free, he couldn’t shove the other angel off of him.</p><p>The corporation he’d been given had long, strong legs, and was built for swimming. He’d tried it a few times on the newly made Earth, in the empty oceans, and knew he was good at it. Somehow, he’d been able to tow them both to land, up onto a rocky shore, two pairs of wings dragging on the ground behind them weighed down with dead feathers, sulfur, and ash. Their forms had changed in the Fall, grown scales and claws and fangs, and they’d used them then, taking out all the anger and fear and pain they couldn’t direct back up at Heaven on each other until they were too tired to do more than lie there.</p><p>And then, later, they’d helped clean all that shit out of each other’s wings. After all, they were on the same side. No sense in squabbling more than they had to, or wallowing. There was work to be done. Lucifer—<i>Satan,</i> he was calling himself now—was waiting to give out new names and titles and assignments, and you didn’t become a Duke of Hell by sitting on your arse whining about Mummy tossing you out.</p><p>That was how it started. That was how Hastur had met Ligur. At least, that’s how Hastur remembered meeting Ligur. They might have known one another Before. It was hard to tell for sure. His memories had scrambled a bit with the landing. But it didn’t matter, really, what happened Before. They wouldn’t have been themselves yet. He wouldn’t have met <i>Ligur</i>, just another twat with a halo.</p><p>And, of course, Hastur knew how it had ended, too. Couldn’t forget if he tried. He lived in Hell full time, grew mildew in his coat for fun, took humans and lesser demons apart for fun, but there was nothing <i>fun</i> about the smell, the <i>sound</i> of that Holy Water as it had dumped down on top of Ligur. Melted him. Burned him down to nothing like Hellfire couldn’t, like boiling sulfur couldn’t, like God Herself <i>couldn’t.</i></p><p>He’d screamed. He’d screamed because that was all he could do. Screamed because Ligur was gone, dead—they’d discorporated each other more than once, sure, but never like this, never forever. He’d screamed because that flash bastard Crowley was pointing Holy Water at him, telling him he was next, and he didn’t want to die.</p><p>Even after he’d figured out the lie of it, had blown the bottle up and called Crowley’s bluff, he’d listened to him. Held back from tearing him limb from limb. Waited as Mr. Slick called the Dark Council, waited to hear the results of this <i>test,</i> because he wanted for this to have been a mistake. Not real. Wanted Ligur to step around and slap him on the shoulder and tell him it was all part of some plan bigger than the two of them.</p><p>In hindsight, as he sat trapped in the traitor’s ansaphone listening to the sound of someone’s irritating voice on loop, Hastur reflected on the fact that deceit and treachery were traits he didn’t much care for, and probably should have frowned upon more often.</p><p>He spent the rest of the time in the ansaphone pointedly not thinking of Ligur and instead imagining all the things he would do to Crowley once he got out. He killed a whole room of telemarketers when he got out, just because he could, just because he wanted <i>someone</i> to hurt, but it wasn’t enough. By the time he made it to the passenger seat of Crowley’s stupid car, he’d had a whole speech planned out. It was going to start with ripping Crowley’s stupid glasses off his face, and end with ripping off his stupid arms. Ligur would have liked to have been there for that. Ripping off people’s arms was one of his favorite things to do.</p><p>He’d only gotten as far as step one of his plan when Crowley, the mad bastard, had driven right into the flames in front of them. Once he’d finished burning to a crisp, Hastur found himself back in Hell and having to elbow (and claw and bite) his way to the front of the discorporation queue like some kind of a slime-and-maggot-based torpedo. Naturally, given the day he’d had already, by the time he’d been shoved back inside a physical body Dagon was there telling him that Satan had been uncreated, the war wasn’t happening, and one half of Hell was in a froth about it and trying to maim and/or destroy the other half. He’d looked out the office window just in time to see one of the Erics picking up another Eric to beat one of the Incubi and all he wanted to do was laugh. Laugh, and tell Ligur about it.</p><p>It took all night to get Hell back under control, and they could all tell that it wouldn’t last for long if something didn’t happen soon. Beelzebub was panicked, and even though ze chose Hastur to be one of the ones sent up to retrieve the traitor, ze also refused to listen to his proposition that they torture Crowley for a few centuries before dunking him in Holy Water. Ze wouldn’t even let him rough him up too much when he grabbed him.</p><p>“Abzzzzzolutely no grievouzzzzz bodily harm,” ze droned. “We don’t have the time. He needzzzz to be destroyed.”</p><p>Something in zir tone suggested that if Hastur tried to disobey, he’d find himself destroyed alongside the traitor. Images of Ligur melting never far from mind, he grudgingly did as he’d been ordered. He still relished the chance to hit Mr. Slick in the back of the head with enough force to kill a human, though. Satan himself couldn’t have stopped Hastur from taking that opportunity while he had it.</p><p>He wasn’t sure exactly when he decided to pick up the Usher and melt him. All he’d wanted was for other people to hurt like Ligur had hurt. Like <i>he</i> was hurting. If he couldn’t hurt the demon responsible as much as he deserved, well… maybe he could spread the pain around a little wider. But it hadn’t even felt good. Just… empty.</p><p>And then, the bastard didn’t even have the decency to die. He just slipped into the bath like it didn’t even sting. He threatened them, <i>mocked</i> them.</p><p>It wasn’t fair.</p><p>Everything after the trial ended happened too quickly to register. The courtroom dissolved into chaos. Crowley headed out towards the lobby, toweling his hair and dripping Holy Water everywhere. Michael fucked off instantly. The demons on the other side of the glass were screaming and running and setting things on fire. Beelzebub and Dagon were yelling, trying to establish order. Hastur was… tired. He didn’t sleep much, unless he was bored, but in that moment, he felt exhausted all the way down to his brand-new corporation’s bones.</p><p>He didn’t exactly know where he was going. Probably back to his quarters, maybe to sleep. Possibly to one of the darker pits where there wasn’t quite so much noise. He just… walked. Out of the courtroom, away from the crowd, down one grubby hallway after another.</p><p>A voice stopped him, and he didn’t turn around at first in case it was some kind of trick. Crowley, maybe, mocking him before he left. His own mind.</p><p>“Where the buggering fuck is everyone?” The voice asked. “It’s empty. Hell’s <i>never</i> empty.”</p><p>Hastur turned, then, and saw him. He was…</p><p>He was fine.</p><p>He was alive. Back in a body. All in one piece. His eyes were green, the same green as stagnant water or the sky before a storm, and before he knew what he was doing, Hastur was running down the hallway and hoisting Ligur up off his feet.</p><p>For just a moment, Ligur’s arms were holding on to Hastur, too. Then the scales of his chameleon flashed a dangerous, trash-fire orange, and he tried to shove Hastur off him. Hastur squeezed tighter, his face pressed up against Ligur’s temple, breathing in that smoky sulfur scent he thought he’d lost. Then Ligur bit him in the shoulder, and he set him back down.</p><p>“Why’re you grabbing me?” Ligur snarled, looking over Hastur’s shoulders to see if anyone was watching. He took another few seconds to let go of where he’d grabbed two fistfuls of Hastur’s coat, and when he finally did let go, he looked like he regretted it.</p><p>Hastur took a step back and looked him over, and saw only confusion on his face. No pain, no fear… no sign that he remembered anything.</p><p>The kind thing to do when you meet a friend who you’ve watched die, painfully and in a way that is theologically horrific in addition to visually, is to not immediately remind them of how they’d been melted, body and spirit, down into a grease stain in the carpet. If that friend had no memory of dying in agony, it would be kinder still to bring that topic up gently and not try to force them to relive it.</p><p>Hastur was not kind, and neither he nor Ligur realized that they were friends, so what he said (shrieked) in that moment was, “I watched you <i>die,</i> Ligur! They poured Holy Water on you. They <i>melted</i> you! You—you were just a grease stain on the carpet!”</p><p>Orange shifted to blue, cooler but no less bright. His eyes glowed like a butane torch in the dim, flickering light of the hallway.</p><p>“Oh,” Ligur said, and looked down at himself. “But I’m fine. Why am I fine?”</p><p>Hastur shrugged and shook his head. “It didn’t melt Crowley, either.”</p><p>“Does it just… not work anymore?” He asked, frowning. He looked like he was having an idea.</p><p>“Dunno,” Hastur admitted. “Don’t want to fucking test it, though.”</p><p>“Suppose not,” Ligur said, fitting his hands in his coat pockets. “Just got un-melted. Don’t really want to go melting again.”</p><p>They walked down the hallway side by side, closer than they usually did. Sometimes, their shoulders bumped, and Hastur couldn’t bring himself to mind it. Ligur didn’t seem like he minded it either.</p><p>“Did Armageddon happen?” Ligur asked sometime later. “Did we lose? Is that why everything’s empty?”</p><p>“Nah. Armageddon’s off.”</p><p>“Off?”</p><p>“Yeah. Antichrist kid didn’t want to do it, so I guess it’s all just off.”</p><p>“Don’t expect much better from a kid who tells a Duke of Hell he smells like poo,” Ligur growled. “Absolutely no respect for anything.”</p><p>“Different kid. Meant to tell you about it after we grabbed Crowley out of his flat, but then you melted,” Hastur said, looking straight ahead. He wasn’t sure why he felt like he was about to melt himself. “Big cock-up. Wrong Antichrist. S’all Crowley’s fault. Tell you about it sometime if you want.”</p><p>“Sure. But if there’s no war, what’s going on?”</p><p>“Satan’s gone. All the lower demons are running wild. The Erics are saying they’re going to unionize.”</p><p>“What’s that mean? <i>Unionize?”</i></p><p>Hastur shrugged. “Something to do with atoms.”</p><p>They’d walked, quite without meaning to, to one of Hell’s back exits. A cave, maybe, or a mineshaft. They were still deep underground, but there was gray light somewhere up ahead.</p><p>“What do you think we should do now?” Hastur asked.</p><p>Ligur tilted his head as he thought about it. “Think I still have half a pack of cigarettes in my pocket.”</p><p>“That works,” he said.</p><p>Hastur took the cigarette he was offered set his hand on fire to light it. Ligur looked right past the blaze of Hellfire and lit his own off the cherry tip of the cigarette between Hastur’s lips, and this time, Hastur gave in to that strange lurching feeling behind his ribs that told him to take his wings out.</p><p>He knew Ligur was giving him some kind of look, but Hastur just stared straight on ahead. “New corporation. Wanted to give ‘em a stretch.”</p><p>The other demon gave some quiet hum of agreement, and there was a rustle of feathers beside him. Ligur bumped his shoulder again, this time on purpose, and their primaries brushed together. Hastur bumped his shoulder back. They didn’t talk. Neither of them knew quite what to say.</p><p>In the end, not much changed. They were both still demons, and both still could not love. Neither of them had yet seen anything to contradict what they’d been told, and they hadn’t spent enough time with humans for the truth to have rubbed off on them. Even if they had, they might not have ever put the words to it. After all, it’d be a funny old world if demons went around loving each other.</p><p>That didn’t stop Hastur from trying to plan ahead. Might be nice to take some kind of a trip together. Plan in a little mayhem for Ligur, some arson for himself. Find wherever it is that the humans make those Jelly Babies and give Ligur all the green ones he can eat. Find some kind of a rock the color of his wings—red and yellow and blue, beautiful, like him—and make someone carve it into the shape of a chameleon.</p><p>After they were done with their trip and came back to Hell, they could go back to work like they always did, except he’d ask Ligur to go with him every time they had to go up to the surface again. They worked better as a team. They could pull off bigger schemes together than they could on their own.</p><p>And everyone would have to just be fine with that. Satan was gone, and Beelzebub had zir hands full with the Erics and their atoms. Hastur was a Duke of Hell, and so was Ligur. They could do whatever they wanted.</p><p>The two of them might not be able to love, but they could like things. People. <i>Demons</i>. They could take pleasure in being together, want to <i>keep</i> being together.</p><p>And Ligur would be safe. Nobody would ever take him away again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm definitely still working on my other <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466103">ongoing</a> <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670411">wips</a>, but I moved at the end of June/start of July and I am a creative orchid so the transplant stress of that totally fucked up whatever writing rhythm I had going and I needed something fun and different to get me back in the swing of things. That's how this thing happened, fully written and edited all in the last 24 hours. Wahoo.</p><p>Shout out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZehWulf/pseuds/ZehWulf">ZehWulf</a> for helping me figure out the winning combination of <b>Thomas Edison</b> in the <b>Pit</b> with the <b>Lemon Zester.</b></p><p>Come say hi on my <a href="https://noodlefrog-omens.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> if you want.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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